“Wedding cake,” she says, like she’s been thinking about it.
The Bronco growls, the engine making a guttural clanking sound that doesn’t thrill me. I give it a little more gas.
“I don’t have any wedding cake,” I say.
I give it a little more gas and the Bronco practically leaps forward, shooting up the tiny hill and into the parking lot, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
“I mean after a wedding,” Rusty says, sounding exasperated in that way that only kids can.
I don’t answer her right away, just park next to Daniel’s old blue Subaru wagon. Since it’s three on a Monday afternoon, there aren’t too many other cars here — Daniel’s, Seth’s Mustang, Levi’s Forest Service truck, a beat-up Ford F250 that looks familiar, and a gleaming, brand-new white extended cab Ram that doesn’t.
I turn the car off, remove my seatbelt, and turn around to look Rusty in the face. The kid is sitting in her booster seat like it’s a judge’s bench, both her hands on the padded bar in front of her.
“Just to be clear,” I say. “You want a piece of wedding cake after the first wedding at my new job.”
For the first time since these negotiations began, Rusty looks uncertain, like she thinks I might be trying to get one over on her. I’m not. I just want to make sure that our terms are absolutely clear, because the kid drives a hard bargain.
“Dad said you were going to a lot of weddings at your new job,” she says, her fingers intertwining in front of her. “You can get wedding cake, right?”
“Of course I can get wedding cake,” I tell her, even though I’m not exactly certain, given my new job doesn’t start until tomorrow.
“Okay. That’s what I want.”
I nod once, all business.
“Deal. I’ll come around to unbuckle you and we’ll shake on it.”
I hop out of the driver’s side and head around to the back door, only to find Rusty looking at me quizzically, the expression making her look almost exactly like her dad.
I fight back a grin, because I don’t want to put our bargain in jeopardy by making her think I’m laughing at her. Six-year-old egos can be delicate.
“All right,” I say, holding out my right hand. The Bronco is so big that, in her booster seat, Rusty’s nearly eye-level with me. “I’ll get you a piece of wedding cake on Saturday, and you don’t tell your dad about the words you heard me say.”
She looks from my hand to my face, her big eyes wide, her golden-brown curls wild around her face. The curls are from her mom, but the rest of her is pure Loveless.
Including the negotiations. She may look just like her dad, but she somehow got my personality.
“An edge piece,” she says, still not taking my hand. “With a lot of frosting.”
I narrow my eyes at her like I’m thinking.
“And a frosting rose. I want a frosting rose and I won’t tell my dad.”
I withdraw my hand, cross my arms over my chest. Rusty looks nervous, one dangling foot kicking in the air.
“Not all wedding cakes have frosting flowers,” I tell her. “You’re gonna have to take your chances on that one, kiddo.”
A tiny frown crosses her face, but then she nods.
“Okay,” she says.
We shake on it, and the deal’s official: I steal her a sugar bomb from work, and she doesn’t tell my brother Daniel what I said when my damn car stalled out five times in a row going up the hill by the old Whitman place.
As soon as I lift her down, she’s off like a shot, running for the front door of Loveless Brewing, her wild hair bouncing and waving. I watched until she disappears through the front door, then heave the car door shut.
“Eli,” another voice calls. “Come give me a hand.”
I turn to find my brother Levi standing behind his truck, watching me.
“She’s fine, Seth and Daniel are in there,” he says. “Take one of these in, will you?”
I walk over to Levi’s dark green Forest Service truck. He’s bent over the back, pulling a box out, the tailgate down. He looks like he’s just come from work, still wearing the gray-green Forest Service overalls that say Levi Loveless over one breast pocket, and his work boots. He drags a cardboard box from the bed and handed it to me.
It’s surprisingly heavy. I tilt it one way and then the other, getting a better grip on it, while Levi watches me skeptically.
“You got that?”
“What’s in here?” I ask, securing it with an arm underneath. It feels like the bottom of the thing is about to fall out, and it smells like gin. I know he’s got a still somewhere out near his cabin, hidden in the forest, and I half-wonder if he’s bringing bootleg hooch to the brewery.